


The Arrangement

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Exhibitionism, F/M, It dives right in, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Nipple Play, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Porn Without (much) Plot, Roleplay, Roleplay infidelity, Sex From Behind, Sex Toys, Sex with a stranger, Sex-for-pay, Solicitation, Spanking, The one where Oliver and Felicity are prostitutes, This one is smutty from the get-go, Threesome, Yes the angst has arrived, You were waiting for it weren't you, be warned, hook-ups, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest...or at least, it shouldn’t. Prostitute/gigolo AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cash or Check?

The digital clock on the oven in Oliver’s squeaky-clean, spotless, chrome-and-black marble kitchen glowed green in the dim light as she hiked her dress further up her waist, goosebumps erupting over her stomach and ribs, the underside of her breasts, as the cool air hit her hot skin. Her fingers hooked into her lacy black briefs, and she pushed the flimsy material aside, nearly tearing the thin fabric in her eagerness to expose herself, to have him _inside_ her.

She was wet, soaking already, and what little light there was in the room - the extractor fan above the stovetop, a single spotlight (the only one, apparently that works), a couple of lamps on the table near the sofa - highlighted the slick shine of her sex where she hovered, suspended in the cool air of the kitchen with her knees pressed into the cold marble of the breakfast bar. None other than Oliver Queen, Star City’s most desired (and desirable) call boy, was spread out beneath her like a living statue; he wasn’t made, like Michelangelo’s _David_ , from white, immobile stone, but from warm skin and and panting breaths, and tight, rippling muscles that cast strange shadows on the walls where he moved restlessly, clenching and un-clenching his hands, his hips twitching. Each sharp jerk pushed his cock further up, so the head rested just above the waistband of his boxers.

The sight made her mouth water. 

Felicity unconsciously licked at her lips, letting her fingers ghost over herself with the hand not holding her panties out of the way. She walked a gentle path up the thick line of Oliver’s erection before yanking, the fabric down without warning.

“Shit!” Oliver cursed, back bowing as the cold air hit him, his breath coming out in a hiss when he let his head fall back onto the breakfast island. He grabbed the backs of her pale, bare thighs and pinched, watched as Felicity winced, but the red flush to her cheeks and tops of her breasts gave away the pleasure underneath.

He jerked her hips forward, and Felicity batted his hands way so that she could rest one flat palm high on the smooth skin of his stomach, anchoring herself before gripping the very tip of him with her other, free hand and guiding it towards her soaking entrance. The head slid against her with no friction, the precum-sticky slit catching on her clit and making it even wetter, the sensation sending miniature shockwaves of pleasure through her core, like tiny sparks zapping through her blood. 

Oliver groaned, reaching to toy with the silver and diamond bracelet around her wrist, stroking the sensitive skin there. She was soft, and warm, though he could see the strong muscles in her upper arms. The faint dusting of pale hair under her arms should have been a turn-off, but it just increased the allure of her. 

Felicity gasped, red-lipsticked mouth open, as she finally slid onto him, and their moans were in unison as she sheathed him with her hot, wet sex, barely any effort needed because she was so prepared for him, her walls opening to receive him. 

He bumped the back of her sex, and Felicity sighed. She shifted her hips experimentally, gasping, humming her pleasure, feeling him out. Testing him. It maked his eyes roll into the back of his head with how deliriously good it felt. 

“ _Oh,_ ” she gasped. Then again, “ _Mmm,_ oh, oh... _Oliver_...”

It’s the sound of his name that made him snap; he thrust up, hard, just as she started to move in circular movements, little figure-eights that catch his cock _everywhere_  as he pushes inside her in a haphazard rhythm. It’s not particularly in sync, but it feels so _fucking_  good, her little whimpers and moans as she bows her head and contracts the hand on his stomach, her nails digging into him in little crescent-moons, spurring him on and putting fire in his veins. 

She flew forward, her hair tickling his chest and sensitive nipples, and he thrust even harder, reaching behind her to grab her ass through her panties and _squeeze_ , his grip almost bruising, and he moved his fingers in a flexing rhythm against her cheeks in time with her undulations, drawing louder and louder moans from her throat. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” she moaned, picking up speed, lifting herself up before slamming back down, meeting him thrust-for-thrust. He didn’t have much room to move - his pants are somewhere around his knees, and she’s sitting on his thighs, warm and heavy and delectable - but it only enhances the sensations, her hot breath on his skin and the sensitive tickle of her hair, the sharp grip of her nails and the scrape of the cold silver around her wrist, her bare ass under his hands and the wet, slick sound of her hitting his balls on the way back down every time she lifts herself up and _thrusts_.

“Fe- _Felicity_ ,” he gasped, only just managing to sound out the syllables of her name, the name printed on the neat white business card she’d slipped into his suit jacket pocket earlier that evening, all brushed-out long curls and glittering diamonds and that tight, tight red dress...

“Oh-oh God, Felicity,” he panted, feeling himself getting impossibly harder inside her, more aroused, closer to the edge. His back is dampened with sweat and it squeaks on the marble of the table underneath him, making everything slippery but also _just right_. 

Felicity arched her back; her throat glistened with sweat, making the pale skin shine in the glow from the oven’s clock. She threw her head back and redoubled her efforts, eyes falling closed, revealing an expert line of black along each lid, her long, fluttering eyelashes casting black shadows on her cheeks. She reached up and cupped one of her breasts, massaging it underneath her dress, whimpering his name over and over again. “Oliver,God, _Oliver_...”

“Yes,” he responds, thrusting harder, faster, determined to reach _that spot_  inside her that he knows will push them both over the edge. “Don’t stop...fuck, Felicity...”

She bowed her back, putting every effort into moving her hips as fast as she can, feeling him rub against every inch of her walls, catching her right where it feels _so, so good_. His thickness rubbed against her clit each time he slid out and then back in, and she cried out, thighs quaking, knees burning with the pressure of holding up her own weight. 

Oliver groaned, grunted with a final thrust, her name spilling from his lips as he twitched and jerked and started to come, filling her, whispering expletives in a language she can’t decipher - is it Russian? Is he speaking _Russian_? - and it’s the last string that needs to snap before _she’s_  coming, too, releasing her breast and pressing her palm flat to her clit, pushing down as she starts to tremble, feeling her orgasm whip out from her center and spread through her whole body, blasts of pleasure that have her whimpering with aftershocks as he softens inside her. 

Eventually, he collapsed back, closing his eyes, throwing one arm over his face like he’s exhausted. Felicity understood that feeling. 

He made no move to pull out, and neither does she move back off of him. She leaned a little, to take some of the edge off - she’s sensitive, too sensitive, it’s a little too much - but otherwise she stayed where she was, panting hard, one hand fisting her sweaty hair, the other carding through the rough pubic hair at the base of Oliver’s cock. 

Felicity laughed, rich and bubbling with the high of orgasm, hummed to herself before leaning down and fastening her teeth to one of Oliver’s nipples. She bit down, rolling the small bud between her teeth, drawing a feeble groan from deep in Oliver’s chest. He pet at her hair, smoothing a large hand over the waves she’d so carefully styled before going out, now frizzy and tangled where sweat had mixed with the exertion of sex. 

She let go, leaving smudged red lipstick behind on his peck. 

Then she hopped off the breakfast bar, not bothering to adjust her dress so that it covers her ass and exposed pussy, her wet thighs and red knees. She hid the hiss of breath she took as he slides out, leaving a trail of come on her thigh to add to her own mess. 

Felicity switched on the coffee maker, grabbing mugs and dumping an obnoxious amount of sugar into one of them, for her. 

She heard Oliver sit up on his elbows, his pants around his knees, cock soft against his left thigh. His eyes were hooded, watching her; or rather, watching her ass and the puffy pink lips of her sex as she bends for the milk in the fridge, tapping her blue-painted toenails on the linoleum. 

Huh. _Blue_. Not red, like her fingernails.

It’s.... strangely domestic. 

It’s not what he expected. 

_....and this is a very dangerous train of thought_. She was a client. A very beautiful, _seductive_  client. But weren’t they always?

He shook his head, made to tuck himself back into his pants. He’d clean up later. He always waited till after they left; it was rude, otherwise. To excuse himself to get cleaned up wasted valuable minutes - for both him and them.

Leaving his pants open but pulled up, he got down from the bar and padded the few paces to where she stood, bare to the world below the waist, waiting for the coffee to brew. He pressed the full length of his body to her own, gripping her hips and playing with the elastic at the top of her panties. They’re bunched up under her ass, and Oliver has to resist the urge to cup her soft cheeks and play with them, with her, making her gasp and moan all over again...

Instead, he opted for pulling a thick lock of her hair aside and pressing kisses to the nape of her neck, exposed at the top of her dress. The kisses were soft, feathery, gentle, though the scruff at his jaw and around his mouth left pink marks behind. He smelled her shampoo and perfume, the lotion she used on her face in the evenings, the lingering scent of hairspray, and, of course, the smell of sex.

No-one smelled quite as good as she did.

Slowly, tortuously slowly, he unzipped the back of her dress, and he felt Felicity stiffen and arch her back, her hand wrapped around the handle of the freshly-brewed coffee pot. As more skin was exposed, Oliver had to swallow with great effort as his throat went dry. She was pale, dotted here and there with brown freckles, sinewy muscle betraying her well-toned body. After a moment, the straps of her dress slipped from her shoulders, and she shuddered as she first poured one, then two, mugs of coffee. 

She was deliberately ignoring his advances. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against the nape of her neck, travelling a path down her bare back with his lips, “you know that, don’t you?”

Felicity’s hand stuttered where she held the spoon with a 1/4 of cinnamon, something she always took in her coffee when they were together. He didn’t understand why. Coffee was meant to be drunk one way and one way only - neat. 

He liked his coffee like he liked his Scotch. 

Felicity, apparently, disagreed.

“I do know it,” she said, tensing as she felt his mouth press firmly to the center of her back, just above where the zipper on her dress ended. “And you’re an obnoxious flatterer.”

Oliver chuckled against her skin, a smirk quirking his lips. “You don’t usually complain.”

Felicity stirred the cinnamon into her coffee, the rich aroma of coffee beans and spice filling her nose. “You’re not usually so obvious.”

He pressed a smacking kiss to the center of her back, before straightening up and re-fastening the zipper of her dress. “I take it you’re not expecting me to pay you by check this week?”

“Correct,” Felicity affirmed, craning her head to take his lips in a kiss that catches him by surprise. He isn’t wearing a shirt - he’s barely wearing his pants - and the heat off his skin is intoxicating. “Cash or nothing, Mr. Queen. And if you don’t, I’ll double my rate.”

Felicity threatened to ‘double her rate’ a lot, but only with him. She never actually did it. 

“And what if I raised mine?” Oliver challenged, the smirk still affixed to his lips. 

“You would never raise your rate. You’d lose too much clientele.” 

_Dammit_. She was right, of course. She saw right through him. 

Felicity handed him the mug that was purely black coffee. “Your beverage.”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, cradling the mug in his hands. “Thank you.”

Felicity re-adjusted her dress, pulling it down to cover her ass once more. Her thighs rubbed together uncomfortably with sweat and come, but she’d sort that out later, and take a shower when she got back to her own place. 

She sipped her coffee, leaning against the counter as she watched Oliver rummage in his suit jacket pocket. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a significant number of hundred-dollar bills. She didn’t bother asking why he had so much money with him. She already knew the answer, anyway. 

Oliver crossed back over to where she stood, showing her the wad of cash. “Happy?”

She cocked her head, fluttered her eyelashes. “Very.”

They kissed again, slow and sensual, Oliver resting one hand on the counter so that he could lean in, deepening the kiss. For some reason, it never occurred to them to kiss (much) during sex. It wasn’t something they ever did. Afterwards, though, these little displays of affection were okay. Acceptable.

“How long can you stay tonight?” Oliver whispered, his breath fluttering the strands of hair loose next to her cheeks. 

“Do you have any other clients vying for your _magical_ sexual prowess?” she asked, her tone semi-sarcastic. Her voice was just as soft as his. 

“Not till 9am,” he told her. 

Felicity smiled against his lips. “Then I can stay all night.”


	2. Mi Casa E Su Casa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest…or at least, it shouldn’t.

It takes Felicity all of six seconds to notice the dull gold ring on Oliver’s wedding finger. 

She knows, of course, that he’s not married. Far from it, in fact. She knows this because that ring only shows up on his days off. It means he’s not taking any clients. Women don’t want to pay for a male prostitute who’s cheating, to all intents and purposes, on his wife. 

The idea of Oliver being married makes her want to laugh, and she lets herself giggle behind her second glass of wine of the evening, leaning against the bar watching the crowd as women first sidle up to, then begrudgingly walk away from, Oliver where he’s situated across the room, lounging at a table occupied by three other businessmen who are being pointedly ignored by him in favour of simply existing and catching the eye of everyone in the room. 

He’s wearing a blue shirt tonight. It matches the deep cerulean of his eyes, eyes that Felicity had stared into over the tops of her breasts as he’d licked his way down her stomach two nights ago, biting the sensitive part of her lower abdomen hard enough to leave a mark before ripping off her underwear and laving at her clit until she screamed. 

Felicity takes a sip of her wine - deep red, staining her pink lips, smudging her lipgloss - as she catches Oliver’s eye. She smiles, trying to be coy, but her eyebrows raise and her eyes drop down to his left hand without her thinking about it.

Oliver grins, showing the boyish dimples in both his cheeks, and a warmth starts deep in the pit of her stomach, a warmth she recognizes now as being something distinctly related to Oliver and how they just....work. Together, they’re better than anyone else Felicity has ever slept with in her line of work. Oliver Queen is something else entirely.

His left hand twitches slightly, and Felicity’s sharp eyes, enhanced as they are by contact lenses, don’t miss the gesture. 

_Not long now._ _Soon._

_I won’t leave you waiting._

Felicity clamps her thighs together, leaning back against the bar for support as a wave of heat rushes over her, flushing her skin and leaving her momentarily breathless. The promise is intoxicating. 

 _This_ is why he’s the golden boy of the prostitute world in Starling City.

Felicity drains her wine, signals the bartender - Jimmy? John? Timothy? - for another, and oh-so-casually reaches into her purse for a bottle of fragrance, twisting off the cap and spraying it liberally onto her throat and wrists. She doesn’t miss the way the scent mists in droplets on the exposed tops of her breasts, gliding along her collarbones and catching the yellow-orange lights, making her pale skin shimmer. The cloud of perfume coats her skin in a wonderful coolness that’s a relief for her flushed face and warm body, and she sees the eyes of several men turn towards her as the scent reaches them. 

The name of the scent is _Chase Me_. 

Snatching up her purse - a deep plum, with a silver snapper, to match her dress - she grabs her second glass of wine and makes a beeline for where Oliver is standing, bent towards a woman with copper-coloured, impressively shiny hair, her body wrapped in a floaty playsuit of the same shade, with incredibly short shorts. Even in her strappy golden heels, she’s nowhere near Oliver’s height, and her nasal voice carries across the room like the knoll of the bells of Notre Dame.

Carrie Cutter. 

Felicity instinctively wrinkles her nose in disgust. Carrie was...well, she was something, though that something wasn’t a very nice one. Her long, claw-like manicured nails wrapped around Oliver’s forearm in a vice-grip as she leaned in closer, her lips milometers from the scruff that decorated his jaw and cheeks. 

 _Ugh_. She may be a call-girl, but Felicity at least had _some_  class. Carrie did not.

_“Ow - fuck!” Felicity cursed as she slammed the back of her head against the wall outside her apartment, the force of Oliver’s body and the ferociousness of his assault on her feverish skin sending her halfway up the terracaotta orange wall-paper where he gripped at her hips, shoving her dress up her thighs and massaging small circles into the sensitive skin just shy of the edge of her panties._

_“That’s not very ladylike,” Oliver teased, mocking her, carding his fingers through her hair away from her face so he could plant searing kisses to her forehead, along her hairline, down to her temple, all the while toying with the soft skin at the crease of her thigh where it met her panties.  
_

_“Fuck you,” she shot back, laughing, meeting him halfway to kiss him on the lips, a chaste, sensitive kiss that was at odds with what the rest of their bodies where doing.  
_

_They’d only just started meeting like this - hooking up on a whim, sleeping with each other a couple times, then leaving a hefty check at the other’s usual rate on the nightstand or coffee table or the coffee canister in Oliver’s apartment that was always empty even though he liked to drink coffee late at night when Felicity was going down on him, sucking him gently with his fingers in her curly hair, keeping her steadfast in her position in his lap - precisely three weeks ago. Felicity was enjoying it very, very much._

_Two prostitutes meeting each other for sex. Who would have thought it?_

_But the arrangement worked. It was a good one._

_For both of them._

_“Ah! Ah - oh, you’re very,_ very _good at this,” Felicity gasped before cutting off on a moan as Oliver suckled on her pulse point, before taking her earlobe between his lips and rolling it over his tongue, the soft skin tender where he nipped at it playfully._

 _He chuckled, low and deep, against the skin of her throat. “Well, I_ am _a gigolo.”_

_Another gasp and a sharp bite of her lip to prevent another, louder moan stopped Felicity from replying, and she tried to wiggle her arms free of his tight grasp and the press of his body at her front to reach for the buckle of his pants. She caught the rough fabric of his plain black slacks right over his groin, where his cock was swollen and pointing right at half-mast. She experimentally rolled her palm over where she gathered the head of his cock would be and he hissed, jerking, his teeth catching her bottom lip as he fought to contain his obvious pleasure._

“Mr Queen!” She takes her chance when Carrie momentarily turns away from Oliver to talk to another man, her long hair covering her face as if she thinks it’ll give them more privacy. Felicity plasters a bright smile on her face and near-bounces on her toes over to where Oliver is standing, his expression full of relief and gratitude.

He composes himself quickly. “Felicity”. 

His voice is rough, hoarse....and, dare she say it, _nervous_. 

Huh.

He fidgets with the tails of his suit jacket and smooths invisible wrinkles in his shirt as his eyes rove over her, the dark purple dress barely covering her ass, exposing a large amount of smooth thigh. The dress swings around her hips as she moves, crossing one leg in front of the other, giving him a tempting look at the thin black panties she’s wearing underneath. 

“Is this a bad time?” Felicity asks sweetly. She knows her behaviour is throwing him off; she can see it in the confusion that crosses his features, in the frown that appears between his eyebrows momentarily. 

The bright smile is still on her face, her right hand swilling the remaining wine in her glass, as she cocks her head to the side and says, “Your wife isn’t here, is she?”

Felicity normally didn’t roleplay, with any of her clients. Those who asked for it were told to go elsewhere for their required services. Playing the dumb blonde secretary with the too-deep slit up her skirt wasn’t what she did. It wasn’t part of her job, of the image she wanted to present of herself. 

But OIiver...was different. 

And she sees it immediately when he realizes what she’s doing, his eyes darkening and lids becoming hooded, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lips briefly.

“No, Felicity,” he replies, his words full of a meaning that only they share, right here in this room, “she’s not.”

“Good,” she says, taking a gulp of wine. It’s room-temperature, the glass sticky with her clammy fingers around the cup. “I’ll be in the black taxi with the silver handles outside. Don’t wait too long to follow me, okay?”

She makes a show of finishing her wine, then deliberately leans right across him to place the empty glass on the table behind him, making sure he gets a nose-full of her perfume and _feels_  the heat of her skin through his shirt, her breasts pressed up against his chest....

A quick readjustment, and her thigh is pressed right up against his crotch. 

“Hurry,” she whispers. Flyway strands of her hair tickle his jaw and throat. “I won’t be waiting long.”

Oliver’s throat works noiselessly, and she thinks she’s caught him off-guard - she _has_  caught him off-guard, with her little scenario she’s trying out for the night - before he smiles at her with a curious cock of his head that makes him look a lot younger than his thirty years.

Not that it makes any difference whatsoever to the things he’s capable of doing in bed. 

 _What are you up to, Smoak?_  His expression seems to ask. 

Felicity doesn’t bother giving him a reply. 

Instead, she pulls herself away, refastening the clasp on her purse. The movement makes her thighs rub together and she feels how wet she is already, how hot she feels _right there_. 

She wonders if he can smell her.

“My place?” she says, as if they were simply talking about the weather, or the economy. Matter-of-fact. “Ten minutes?” 

_My place. Your place._

_Our place?_

“Absolutely,” is Oliver’s reply. 

Felicity stands on her tiptoes, presses a feather-light kiss to his cheek. It leaves a barely-there imprint of pink lipstick and gloss, and a hint of red wine. 

“C’mon. _Mi casa e su casa._  At least until your wife gets home.”

A wink and a squeeze of the fingers on his left hand, her thumb brushing over the cool metal of the faux wedding ring, and he was following her out of the room.

Just like a puppy on a leash. 

And just as she knew he would. 


	3. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest...or at least, it shouldn’t. Prostitute/gigolo AU.

Felicity fingered the soft black leather mask with wonder, feeling the smoothness of it, how pliant it was. She’d never ordered anything custom-made for her clients before - she was adamant that she didn’t make special requests, what she offered is what they would accept, or otherwise they could leave and take their money elsewhere - but this was...different.

She wound her finger around the purple ribbons trailing from the corners of the mask, the ribbons that would secure it to her face when she wore it tonight. The vibrant colour was in line with her personality; a bit of _her_  that she brought to the table each night, a bit of her personality that she shared with the men who asked for her services. 

She looked at herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink, trying to imagine herself wearing the mask she held in her hands. How it would cover the top half of her face, obscuring the tops of her cheekbones, ringing her eyes where they shone through the holes in the black leather.  How it would make her look mysterious, powerful. Maybe even _dangerous_. 

Felicity licked her lips impulsively, imagining herself towering over him, in sky-high heels tipped with silver glitter, her hair curling over one shoulder and just brushing his nipples where she leaned over his chest, her lips inches from his jaw, where she would place one red, smudged kiss...

She rubbed her lips together, smearing the scarlet colour around, making sure it stuck. Or maybe she wanted to leave a mark. 

Maybe Oliver would want her to.

A warmth spread between her legs at the thought of his name, her skin tightening all over, making her nipples harden under the lace bra she had chosen for the night; a simple black, with purple edging. Two small bows on each bra cup indicated where her nipples were, an invitation to touch, to taste.

There was a matching thong, barely a triangle of fabric, with a detachable lace crotch and purple ribbons on the hips. She hadn’t put it on yet, and the lack of anything between her naked body and the cool air around her was tempting in a way that she hadn’t been used to...until she met Oliver.

Felicity placed the mask down on the bathroom counter, spreading out the ribbons on either side like thin, purple snakes. The sight of it made her skin burn hotter, the push of warmth in her core intensifying as she curled her toes together in an effort to keep her legs closed, to save herself for their meeting, to not get a head start on him.

It was no use.

With frantic movements that would embarrass her later, she rummaged in a drawer to the right of the sink until she found the medium-sized hot-pink vibrator, just big enough for her to hold comfortably in her hand and smelling like jasmine where she’d washed it in the dishwasher a few weeks ago. She hadn’t used it since then. She hadn’t needed to.

Until now.

Spreading her legs apart, she wasted no time in teasing herself with it, dipping it into the wetness covering her sex and rubbing it over her entrance, feeling the slickness of her own arousal and the slide of the vibrator against her sensitive skin. 

She thought of all the times she had seen Oliver in the past few weeks. Of what they’d done when they’d met. 

She remembered how he’d pushed her up against the kitchen wall and rubbed her until she’d come apart in his arms, her moans echoing off the ceiling. 

She remembered how he’d practically dry-humped his own kitchen counter at one o’clock in the afternoon when she’d pressed her lips to his neck and pushed two fingers into his ass, scissoring until he was begging and sobbing, before turning him around and taking him into her mouth, where he lasted all of a minute before exploding down her throat.

Gasping, she spread her legs further, bracing herself on the bathroom counter with one hand while she flicked the switch on the vibrator with her thumb, the buzz of it coming to life sending sparks of pleasure down her spine. She pressed the toy to her entrance and moaned, throwing her head back, feeling herself clench and release around thin air, more of her arousal spreading down her thighs. Her breath came in harsh rasps and she pressed harder, her feet slipping on the tiles from the intensity of the pleasure, and she imagined it was Oliver’s mouth and not a plastic piece of electrical equipment making her feel like she was one large seam, fraying at the edges and slowly breaking apart. 

Felicity moved the vibrator up to her clit, the shocks sending pulses of pleasure through the small, rosy bundle of skin and nerve-endings. Moving it in tiny, infinitesimal circles, she let herself _feel_  everything that she usually only reserved for when she was with Oliver. He was worth every penny she’d ever paid him. He smelled better, looked better, had a nicer smile, the ability to drive her _crazy_  that made her almost forget that this was a business arrangement and not a series of very enjoyable booty calls. 

“Ah!” she gasped, feeling _that_  release build up inside her, twisting her insides into a hot, pleasurable mess that made sweat bead along her hairline. Her eyes fluttered closed as she moved the vibrator up and down, over and over, heat burning in her core and her toes curling against the cold tiles as she pushed herself higher. 

“Oh-oh-oh _God_ ,” Felicity panted, pushing her hips into her hand, trying to _force_  herself to reach that peak, and soon, before it became too much. She pressed the toy to her clit on last time, and it was all she needed; her legs buckled and she came, gasping for breath, moaning Oliver’s name.

_Oliver’s_   _name_.

She’d never said his name before, not when she’d pleasured herself, alone, during her “me”-time. Never him. She had a policy to never picture her clients when she went to town on herself, and yet here she was, thighs soaked with her own come and sweat dripping down her neck and _Oliver Queen’s_ name on her red-smudged lips. 

No. No, this was completely wrong. It was _wrong_. It was wrong of her to picture him when she masturbated, to think of him and all that she knew he could do to a woman. 

It was _wrong_.

Breathing heavily, she pulled her hair into a low ponytail, tying it behind her head with a black velvet ribbon. The long blonde curls hung down her back, tickling her sweaty skin.

_“God, I love your curls,” Oliver grunted into her neck, pulling on a lock of her hair as he met her frantic thrusts, grinding into her over their clothes. “You suit curls.”_

_Felicity arched her neck, allowing him more access to the expanse of her throat as her hips swiveled, each time she made a figure-of-eight feeling the stiffness of Oliver’s cock between her legs. She wanted to pull off her shorts and panties and ride him, but clearly, he had other ideas, his large hands grabbing her ass and squeezing as he slipped a leg between hers, allowing her to feel even more of him against her._

_She’d barely walked through the door - her client’s request that she be at a pool party at his mansion for at least two hours had overrun into three - when she’d received a text from Oliver, telling her that he was on his way over. It wasn’t a question or a request for permission to come to her apartment - it just was._

_And then he’d knocked on the door, and she’d opened it to find him standing on her doorstep in jeans and a deep green flannel shirt that made his skin look like pale gold, and he’d wasted no time in lifting her up and kissing her, hot and determined as she’d instinctively wound her arms around his neck and held him closer._

_He’d smelled like cologne and_ Gucci Guilty _._

Felicity quickly wiped her sticky thighs with those fem-fresh wipes you could get in the feminine hygiene aisle, the ones that were cucumber and rose scented, the ones she liked and knew that other men liked on her, then pulled on the panties that matched her bra. Under the sink were a pair of silver shoes, the highest heels that she owned, ones she hardly ever brought out of the box they came in simply because they were too difficult to wear for a long time. 

Except for occasions like this. 

She slipped on the shoes and buckled them, and immediately grew several inches taller. The height alone made her feel more confident. It was hard for a prostitute to admit to nervousness, but she definitely felt so now. Especially since she’d just given herself an orgasm to thoughts of the man that could walk through her door any minute. 

Finally, Felicity tied on the mask, settling it over her eyes and nose and making sure it wouldn’t slip off. 

She gasped when she saw the contrast of the black leather against her pale skin and flushed cheeks; the splash of colour of the ribbon against her blonde hair. 

Tonight, she was going to give Oliver Queen everything he’d ever dreamed of.

* * *

 

Oliver knocked on the door at one minute to eight. 

Felicity strode purposefully to the door, making sure that the _clack_  of her heels on the wooden flooring was audible to him on the other side of the apartment. She wanted him to know exactly what he would be getting when he saw her. 

“Good evening, Mr. Queen,” she said, in a soft purr, as she opened the door. She leaned against it with one hand, putting her barely-covered body fully on display for him. “You’re right on time.”

Felicity watched his eyes as they tracked the length of her form, from the mask that covered her face to the red lips quirked into a soft smile, to the way her breasts heaved in her bra as she took deep, deliberate breaths, to her legs and finally, to the shoes, glinting in the dim light of the room, the heels sharp as new pencils. 

“Felicity,” Oliver choked out, his throat dry and Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort of speaking. “I - _wow_.”

“You asked, remember?” She let herself give him a brief grin, breaking her facade for a moment or two. “I only did what you told me to do.”

“I remember,” Oliver said slowly. 

“You didn’t think I was up for it?” Felicity asked, flicking her ponytail over one shoulder. “Has screwing me for the past two months taught you nothing at all?”

“So vulgar, Miss Smoak,” Oliver chuckled. “We haven’t even started yet.”

_Oh, it did sound good when he called her ‘Miss Smoak’._

“No,” Felicity agreed. “We haven’t.” She stood to her full height, then jerked her chin behind her to indicate the room. “Get in and take off your jacket. Sit in that chair over there.”

Felicity watched as he obeyed her instructions, shrugging off the brown leather jacket she’d often seen him in to reveal a plain black t-shirt underneath, then spilling into the large, sturdy armchair she’d pushed into the center of the room just for tonight. Seeing him so willingly do what she had told him gave her a rush, a spark of _some_ thing that set aflame her still-aching core.

“First, we need to establish some ground rules,” Felicity said, pacing in front of him with a swing of her hips that she _knew_  would get his blood racing. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to be hurt by you. Everything I do to you, I want you to be fully on board with it, and if you’re not, I’ll stop immediately.”

She turned, then crept closer to him, almost so that she was standing between his legs. He was massive up close, the broadness of his chest and shoulders seemingly going on forever, tapering down to a narrow waist that was ridiculously unfair on a man. 

So _not fair._

_“_ Have you ever been dominated before?” she asked. And then she added, “Or been dominant?”

It was out of curiosity, really, and also out of safety. 

But Oliver’s eyes went wide and his pupils darkened, and he shifted ever-so-slightly underneath her. 

Felicity put one finger under his chin, tipping his face up so that she could see him properly. “I need you to tell me yes or no, Oliver.”

“No,” he said. “No, Miss Smoak, I haven’t.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow - not that Oliver could see it under the mask, but still. “So....I’m your first?”

This time, Oliver smiled a little, eyes sparkling. “I guess you are.” He held his hands out to indicate his willingness to go along with whatever they were planning on doing tonight. “I’m all yours.”

She leaned forward over him, just as she had pictured herself doing, her breasts inches from his chest, close enough that her ponytail swung forward and tickled his collarbone above his t-shirt. Felicity breathed him in, humming appreciatively, taking in the smell of freshly-laundered clothes and pine-scented shampoo. Her lips barely skimmed the skin of his throat, and she whispered, “I’m surprised no-one’s thought to dominate you before, Oliver. You’d think every woman in Starling City would want a piece of you.”

Oliver went slack in the chair, letting his head loll against the back of it, eyes hooded with contentment. He looked like a cat falling asleep in the sun. 

“No,” he said lazily. “Just you.”

Felicity planted a wet kiss on the side of his neck, sucking the skin a little, leaving behind faint marks of lipstick. Then she traveled a path to his Adam’s apple, where she licked the bobbing organ and tasted the sweat there, before pressing another, harder kiss in the hollow of his throat. Oliver’s back arched, his whole body contracting, and she knew she’d started in the right place when she saw that his eyes had slipped fully closed and his breaths were shallow gasps. 

“I’m going to take off your shirt,” Felicity said, moving her hands to his waist, feeling how warm his skin was underneath the offending fabric. “I want you to think of a safeword while I do.”

“Yes,” Oliver nodded, licking his lips. 

Felicity dug her nails into his stomach, stilling him. “Yes _what?”_

Oliver swallowed. “Yes, Miss Smoak.”

She pushed his t-shirt up over the well-sculpted muscles of his abs and chest, the skin rippling with each breath he took. She was always amazed by how soft he was over all that hard muscle, his skin like silk and wonderfully warm to the touch. She took her time, smoothing her palms over every inch of him she had access to, curving her hands around the definition of his pecs and making him jump when she flicked her thumbs over each of his nipples, his hips bucking towards her. 

She bent her head and pressed a kiss right next to his left nipple, soft as a butterfly’s wings, and she could hear how hard his heart was beating in his chest, his pulse practically racing. One hand slipped down his body to his jeans, where she cupped his growing arousal and squeezed, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a groan, while the other pushed his t-shirt all the way off. He obediently lifted his arms so that it would be easier for her, and Felicity felt her skin burn with a delicious need as she caught sight of the dusky pink flush that covered his skin, right from his collar to his navel. 

“So pretty,” she purred, running her fingertips over his chest. She squeezed his half-hard cock again, feeling it swell and twitch in her hand. “And so _big.....”_

_“_ Ah, ah - oh God, Miss-Miss Smoak....” Oliver garbled, trying to get closer to her, but she angled her body just out of his reach. 

“What’s your safeword?” she asked, crawling up his body, pressing her thighs against the edge of the chair so that she was right up against him. “Did you think of one, Oliver?”

“O-orange,” Oliver panted as Felicity ran her fingers over his nipples again, feeling them bead and stiffen under the pads of her fingers. “Orange.”

“Good,” Felicity nodded, cupping his cheek. “You did good.” She pulled away again, just enough so that she was poised over him. “Put your hand on my back.”

He did just that, resting his hand on the small of her back, his spread palm almost reaching across from hip to hip. 

“Kiss me.”

It was hot and dirty and messy, their mouths coming together in an uncoordinated fashion, their breath warm on each other’s faces. Felicity sucked Oliver’s bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled before doing the same to his upper lip, the smacking sound as they pulled apart audible to both their ears. She gripped his jaw with one hand to hold him steady as she kissed him over and over, heat zipping down to her core, his fingers spasming on the skin of her lower back. 

She climbed into his lap in a single fluid motion, bending her legs so that she was kneeling between his own, the hard shape of his erection right at the apex of her knees, just waiting to be touched. 

But not yet.

Felicity deepened the kiss, chasing Oliver’s lips, angling her head to get better access. She could feel the heat between her own thighs, the remnants of what she had done in the bathroom earlier sticking her skin together. She panted, her chest heaving, and an idea came to her. 

She pulled away, Oliver moaning at the loss of her so close to him; but she slowly, deliberately, reached behind her to unclasp her bra, releasing her breasts and letting them spill forward. Her nipples immediately stiffened in the cool air of the room, and Oliver’s eyes followed them as if like magnets. Felicity flung her bra to a corner of the room and turned back to him.

“I want to to kiss my breasts,” she commanded. “Light kisses, no teeth. But you may use your tongue.”

“Yes, Miss Smoak,” Oliver whispered hoarsely, slipping his arms around her waist and sitting up so that he could splay his hands over her back, holding her body close. 

He pressed his forehead between the valley of her breasts, kissing the sensitive skin along the side of the left, tasting the salt of sweat underneath. The heat of him was everywhere; pressed to her front, his hands plastered over her back, his breath hot on her chest and the weight of his body heavy and inviting underneath her. Felicity moaned, throwing her head back, sweat pooling under her mask and running down her cheek; the droplet reached her collarbone and Oliver obediently licked it up, without her asking him, his tongue hot on her skin. 

She tapped the back of his head affectionately, guiding him back to her breasts, where he latched his mouth to her nipple and _sucked_ , caressing the small nub with his tongue, and this time, Felicity’s whole body jerked, her resulting moan long and low and _loud_  in the quiet of the room.

“Don’t stop,” she groaned, winding her arms around Oliver’s neck loosely, stretching them across his broad shoulders. She could feel the rough lines of scratch marks on his back, and she wondered which one of his regular clients had made them. He laved at her breasts with abandon, careful not to use his teeth at any point, sucking on one breast before moving to the other, leaving red marks in his wake. Felicity swiveled her hips in his lap, an instinctive movement, and her nerve-endings felt like they were on fire when she felt how hard he was. His tongue on her sensitive nipples was almost too much, but she didn’t ask him to stop. 

She could feel her clit rubbing against her panties with each thrust of her hips, and it only drove her further into her own pleasure. Oliver sucked around each of her nipples, turning the skin there an even darker pink, before taking each one into his mouth and releasing it with a small _pop_. Felicity raked her fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck, encouraging him to keep going, her moans getting louder the longer he worshipped her body.

“Stop,” she suddenly commanded, her fingers tightening in his hair. Oliver obeyed at once, looked up at her with dark, dark eyes, midnight blue, his face flushed.

“You’re doing such a good job,” Felicity praised, stroking his cheek. “But I don’t want tonight to be over yet.”

Climbing off of his lap, she knelt in front of him with a smile, taking a moment to adjust the ribbons on her mask.

“Take off your pants,” she instructed, resting her hands on her knees. Her sex was throbbing; she could feel how wet she was where her thighs rubbed together. The lace of her panties was soaked through. 

She watched with relish as Oliver did as he was told, strong yet trembling hands unbuckling his jeans and pulling them off, exposing the deep cut of his hips and the soft pale gold hair that ran from his navel to the waistband of his underwear. Felicity took his pants from him and threw them in the same general direction as she’d put her bra earlier. 

She should have been self-conscious that she was wearing her panties, heels, and mask and nothing else, but she wasn’t. 

Reaching out with one finger, she traced the outline of Oliver’s cock in his underwear, feeling it jump under her touch. As if by this contact alone, the wet spot at the front of his boxers darkened, the head of his cock leaking precum into his underwear, betraying how desperately close he was. 

“Hmm,” Felicity hummed, stroking the stiff bulge of him over and over again with that one single finger, making him gasp shallowly, hips twitching, “What should I do with you now?”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the bulge of his cock, then moved down to take the head into her mouth through the fabric, sucking gently, tasting Oliver’s sweat and precum and the laundry detergent he liked to use. He was impossibly hot, almost burning her lips; but it only made her want to taste _more_  of him.

Slowly, she peeled his underwear off, tucking the waistband just under his heavy balls. His cock immediately stood to attention, deep red at the head, shining with leaking precum. Oliver moaned when the cool air of the room hit his fevered skin, arching his hips up to seek friction that wasn’t there yet. 

“I’m going to suck you off now,” Felicity told him. “Is that okay, Oliver?”

He nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, God, _yes_.”

Felicity plunged her mouth onto his cock with almost no warning, taking him in one long swallow, wrapping her lips tightly around the base and swirling her tongue over the silky-soft skin. Oliver almost collapsed against the back of the chair, eyes closed, lips parted in an almost constant moan that made Felicity grin around him, leaving red lipstick marks behind. She bobbed her head, swallowing rhythmically, moving up and down with practiced ease, though it was a far cry from when she’d blow him lazily on his living room couch, Oliver reaching around to tuck a handful of dollar-bills into the waistband of her panties afterwards. 

She’d smacked him after he’d done that, and had refused to meet with him again for a whole two weeks.

He’d learned his lesson, because he never treated her like a common stripper again. 

“Oh God,” Oliver panted, trying to keep himself still, but Felicity could feel him twitching and spasming, “Oh God, Fe-Miss Smoak...”

.She massaged his cock with her lips and throat, taking him almost to the back of her throat, sucking and licking until her tongue began to ache. She could feel the vein on the underside of his cock throbbing, the blood pulsing at a rate that made her own veins pulse and throb, her nipples painfully hard, clit desperate to be touched. 

She could feel Oliver trembling, his balls tightening, and she knew he was close. She moved her lips all the way down to the base of his cock, then sucked _hard_  on the way back up, and that was all it took; with a harsh gasp, and a string of curse words - “ _Fffuuuck_ ,” - he came on her tongue, down her throat, some of it dripping down the sides of her mouth where she couldn’t swallow it all. She let her jaw relax so that she could take in as much of his come as she could, the salty taste pleasurable. 

When she finally felt him softening in her mouth, she pulled off of him, and he hissed at the oversensitivity; licking her lips to make sure she had gotten _all_  of his come, Felicity sat back on her haunches and just _looked_.

She looked at Oliver, splayed out in the armchair, soft and pliant from the intense pleasure of orgasm. His chest heaved with each deep breath he took, and sweat shone along his arms and the cut of his abs. 

She had him at her mercy.

Felicity rose to her feet, tightening her ponytail, and kissed his sweaty forehead. He opened his eyes, shining with lust and arousal, asking silent permission from his Mistress to kiss her on the mouth. Felicity nodded, imperceptibly, and he did kiss her, reaching up from the chair to meet her halfway, a slow, sweet kiss that allowed him to taste his own come on her lips.

She fingered his soft cock, her fingers coming away damp with his come and her own saliva and lipstick.

“Ready for round two, Mr. Queen?”

* * *

 

Thrusting hard, Felicity peppered the smooth expanse of Oliver’s back with fleeting kisses, her hair falling forward to tickle the knobs of his spine as she arched over him, her hips undulating with a kind of power she hadn’t even realized she had, forcing Oliver closer and closer to the edge. The base of the dildo rubbed against her own pubic bone and her already too-sensitive clit each time she thrust, forcing her to squeezer her eyes shut as her pleasure took over, the sensations like electric shocks into her veins. 

Each time the tip of the toy brushed his swollen prostate, Oliver practically _howled,_ cursing in a way she had never heard him do before, and the sight of the toy going in and out of his ass was enough to make Felicity moan too, getting off on the pleasure she was giving him, how much he was enjoying it.

She let her breasts hang down against his sweat-sticky back, nipples dragging across his skin and agitating the old scratch marks she’d found there earlier, pushing her face into his neck and planting a wet kiss there. She slowed down to a slow grind, circling her hips but pushing in deeper than before, and it was enough to press the silicone base right against her clit at just the right angle, sending sparks of pleasure like whiplash through her body, again and again. 

“Oliver,” she moaned breathily, closing her eyes and pressing her face against his skin, the soft leather cool to the touch and making him jump, hips coming off the mattress. Without thinking, without warning, he grabbed her hand where she had her arms outstretched above him on the bed, tangling their fingers together and holding on tight. 

She was momentarily shocked, the feel of his warm palm and gentle yet firm grip surprising, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she latched on, returning his gesture with a squeeze of his fingers, speeding up her thrusts once more and pushing them both closer to that point they had started all of this for all those months ago.

“Oh God,” she babbled, each push against her clit like the touch of a lit match, sending her spiraling high above herself, the pleasure almost unbearable, “oh God, I-”

“I know,” Oliver panted, matching her thrust for thrust as much as he could from his prone position on his stomach, “God, I know.” 

Felicity could feel her mask slipping off, her ponytail loose against her back; her legs ached from their straddling position over Oliver’s thighs, the muscles in her arms burning, but all she cared about was getting to _that point_ , that wonderful high that was always so incredible with him. 

One final thrust, hard and deep, and Oliver was coming; he moaned as his cock spilled between his stomach and the mattress, his hips jerking against hers, the slow grind of her hips drawing out the orgasm for as long as she could before it became too much. One, two, three slow circles and Felicity was coming, too, soaking the toy with her own come. It was like a wave had crashed through her body and was filling her up from head to toe, and she breathed hard as she came down from the high.

Slowly, she climbed off of him, flopping down at his side with heavy limbs and immediately seeking his warmth, even though she was hot and sweaty and he wasn’t much different. She unbuckled the dildo and threw it over the end of the bed, wincing at how oversensitive her clit and sex were. 

He turned to face her, eyes half-closed, his whole body flushed a pretty red that made him look much younger. 

“So,” she whispered, “how was that for you?”

He stretched his legs experimentally, folding his arms and pillowng his cheek on them. 

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Really, really good.”

Felicity untied her mask, peeling it away from her face with a grimace. “I’m glad.”

“How much do I owe you?” he asked. 

Felicity considered this for a moment, playing with a stray curl of her hair. She rubbed her thighs together, feeling how wet they were. 

“For now, you don’t have to pay me anything,” she replied. 

“Yes, Miss Smoak,” Oliver complied. 


	4. All That Glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is more feelings-y than the other three and delves into the dynamic between Felicity/Oliver more, as well as some of their sexual habits outside of their own bubble. Enjoy!

The restaurant was pitch-dark, the only illumination from the flicker of candles on every table and the occasional blast of yellow light from the kitchens as the doors swung open, waiters in luminous white uniforms carrying plates of the very best food in Starling City’s fine dining circuit to the eager patrons.

Oliver saw her hair before he saw her, _Felicity_ , golden waves shining bright in the gloom and the rest of her engulfed by the black satin jumpsuit she wore, making her look like a ghost in the way it made her body disappear into her surroundings. His body tightened, his mouth going slightly dry, and he re-checked his pocket to make sure he had his check book in suit jacket ready for later.

He twitched his fingers against his pants, a nervous gesture that indicated his impatience, a want that stirred in his stomach and spread warm throughout his body, and he watched with a niggling of jealousy as Felicity stopped to greet the bartender and order a drink. Her smooth skin was bright under the lights of the bar and he couldn’t wait to get his mouth around it, sucking a dark hickey into her shoulder, hopefully while rubbing her clit in quick, vigorous circles until she came all over his fingers. 

Months ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about her. Yes, he had regular clients who he visited at a certain date and time that was pre-determined and he always knew what he was going to get - an older redhead who liked to call him “Sir”, a young jilted bride who wanted the fill she never got to have on her would-be honeymoon, a banker who liked to watch while he had sex with another man - but now...they’d developed something. They still got paid, but it was more than just a cut-and-run situation that was so frequent with their lines of work. 

Oliver watched, his back to the far wall of the restaurant, as Felicity sipped a glass of wine and swung her legs under the bar stool, curls bouncing around her shoulders as she looked this way and that. Her lips were a nude pink, and for once, Oliver hadn’t immediately gravitated her way as soon as he saw a flash of bright colour across the room. 

She’d gone subdued on purpose, he knew. It was for _him_ , and that made him start to harden in his suit pants, his breath coming in shallower pants at the anticipation, getting anxious to meet her and smell her perfume, and feel the softness of her legs where they wrapped around his waist...

Oliver bit down hard on his tongue to suppress a moan, adjusting himself in his pants so that it wouldn’t be so obvious he was excited for her. Not that he thought she would mind. It was her job to get him erect, after all. 

But. Still. He forced himself to stay in control of himself. He could taste the spearmint toothpaste from his last client’s mouth on his tongue, and that grounded him. Reminded him that this was a _job_. 

Felicity slipped off the bar stool, wine in hand, and began to make her way over to him, her smile bright and her pace leisurely, her other hand clutching a small black, sparkling clutch bag. He couldn’t hear the _clack-clack_  of her heels over the din in the restaurant, but remembering how they’d sounded as she’d strutted over to the bed in her apartment one afternoon and tied him to the bed-frame with silk handkerchiefs was enough to satisfy him. He could almost feel the cool silk in on his wrists, the knots secure but gentle, and Felicity’s breath on the hair under his arms as she tied each one. 

“Hi,” Felicity said, when she arrived in front of him, taking a long sip of wine and deliberately sucking in her cheeks. “Hey.”

Feeling bold, Oliver reached for her other hand, the one holding the clutch bag, and wrapped his fingers around her own, so that they were both holding it. Her nails were blood-red and shining. Felicity raised an eyebrow, her expression slightly puzzled at the gesture, but didn’t say anything. 

“Hello.”

Felicity smiled, her eyes very blue under the rings of black and silver make-up she wore, long feathery lashes framing dark eyeshadow, black lines rimming her eyelids and making her eyes look wider and even bluer. 

“Do you want to go to the bathroom, Mr. Queen?”

The question was a simple one, but it threw him for a loop - what was she talking about? - and her expression, the sly smile, the cocked hip, the glass of wine in her hand, all made him confused for a moment. 

“I _said_ ,” Felicity repeated, slowly, sauntering up to him with her lips as close to his ear as she could manage, “do you want to go to the bathroom?”

Her other hand stroked his hot skin through the fabric of his shirt, then suddenly plunged downwards, gripping the half-full length of him, squeezing firmly as if she were juicing a lemon, rubbing slowly - and Oliver gasped, jerked, and suddenly understood.

“I do,” he rasped, chasing her hand with his hips, wanting more. He didn’t care that they were in a restaurant full of people. “Felicity, _yes_.”

Felicity took him by the hand and led him towards the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms were, her heels clattering and her hair bouncing. She giggled, like a little girl, and her wine sloshed in her glass, making her giggle even more. Oliver was painfully hard and needed a release; he knew Felicity would give it to him.

She shoved him backwards into the women’s restroom, the door banging loudly against the wall where it flew open under their combined weight, her hands all over his chest and stomach and the crotch of his pants. Somewhere between the restaurant itself and the restroom, she’d got his zipper open, and he groaned as she reached into his boxers and gripped him, running her thumb over the head of him, licking her lips as if to say, _I know just what I’m going to do with this._

Oliver let himself be pushed back into a stall, his pants around his knees and Felicity warm and hot against his front. She’d left her glass of wine next to one of the sinks, but he could still smell Pinot Noir on her skin and breath. 

In one swift move, she hiked her pant legs up around her knees to enable her to crouch down in the small, cramped space, her curls tickling his thighs and abdomen. Oliver jerked, pushing his hips towards her face, urging her to do what she clearly wanted to do - what _he_  wanted her to do - but she refused, instead sucking wet, pink-lipstick kisses into the juncture of his thighs. She hummed, making little _mmm_  noises into his skin, and that only drove him even crazier and more desperate to have her where he needed her. The rim of the toilet bowl pressed into his knees but he didn’t care. 

Suddenly, Felicity turned her head and licked a warm stripe up the side of his stiff cock, eliciting a shout from Oliver that echoed against the walls of the stall and made Felicity pinch the skin of his hip sharply in a warning -

 _Be quiet_.

She continued to nip and suck along the length of him, relishing the taste of sweat and body wash and cologne, smearing her make-up in the process. Her hair was soft and his skin was far too oversensitive, but Oliver swallowed his moans and kept his lips pressed together as tight as he could manage as Felicity devoured him. 

He grabbed a fistful of her hair as she finally, _slowly_ , took his cock into her mouth, warm and wet and delicious, the head just tapping the roof of her mouth and making her grin around the thickness of it, her eyelashes fluttering, sending tiny showers of glitter powder onto her cheeks and into his own pubic hair. 

“Ugh, Felicity,” he moaned, arching his hips. “ _God_.”

“I may be Jewish, but I’m not God,” Felicity said, smiling around his dick, her words muffled by her occupation with it. “I just believe in Him.”

_Wait, you’re Jewish?_

“You never told me you were Jewish,” Oliver replied, whimpering and ending on a gasp as Felicity sucked particularly hard on the vein underneath his aching cock. He found his voice again. “Does this mean I’m kosher?”

In response, Felicity slapped him on his bare thigh, not enough to really hurt but enough to tell him he was misbehaving. 

“Not the time for Jewish jokes,” she said, pulling off of him to suck lightly on the sticky head, wet with pre-cum and sweat, her cheeks hollowing with effort and the image making Oliver grow even harder, lengthening in her mouth to the point where it was actually painful. “Those are for downtime.”

Everything was hot and intense and amazing, Felicity’s thighs quaking with the effort of crouching down in the small space, her breath fast and moist on his legs, her hair tickling him when she turned her head, lipstick all over his crotch, and that damn glitter powder make-up _everywhere_. 

His balls were getting tight, his whole body straining, and Felicity was taking far too long to give him what he wanted. He arched his hips again, reminding her, but she either didn’t notice or simply ignored him, carrying on with her slow sucking and teasing that was making him sweat beneath his suit jacket and long to be able to throw his head back and yowl his pleasure, like he had when she had put that strap-on his ass.

The memory of that night made his ass clench involuntarily, his balls jumping and twitching with the effort of holding back release, and he pushed his cock further into Felicity’s warm, eager mouth, the head hitting the back of her throat and her tongue swirling over the hot, hard skin with ease.

He gripped her hair in a tight fist, making her moan and squeak in surprise, and slammed a hand on the cool tile wall of the stall to keep his balance as she drew him closer to the edge. 

“Ugh,” Oliver groaned. “Ugh, _God_ , Felicity.” 

There was a reason she charged so much. She was _good_  at this. 

Felicity smirked, her lips pulled wide, and ducked down to give one final long, hard, slurping suck along the length of his cock - and that was it.

He could barely contain himself as he came down her throat, his cock twitching in her mouth, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his temple.

Felicity sat back on her haunches and watched him fall apart, chest heaving, knees shaking as his cock softened against his thigh and smeared sweat and come and saliva on his pants. 

She pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee, stroking his thigh with her finger, aiding his come-down from the high. 

“Such a good boy,” she hummed against his skin. 

“I’m guessing,” Oliver said, panting, “that you’re charging me double for the exhibitionism?”

Felicity rose up, tucking him gently back into his pants and zipping them back up. 

She patted him on the cheek. “Oh, of course.” She smiled, and Oliver noticed that she had got some of her lipstick on her teeth. It was so perfectly imperfect that he couldn’t help but be endeared by it. 

“By the way, MAC’s Say It Ain’t So Dazzleshadow looks good on you,” Felicity quipped, licking her thumb and rubbing off a smudge of the sparkly powder. 

“It’s _definitely_ your colour.”


	5. Stranger's Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest…or at least, it shouldn’t. Prostitute/gigolo AU.

Felicity had just folded the last pair of socks to come out of the washing machine - really, she _had_  to stop volunteering to do her neighbours’ laundry when their machines were broken - when she heard the click of a key in the lock of her front door, then heavy footsteps on the mat and the sound of someone taking off a pair of boots. 

Immediately, she felt her hands palms sweat, and her heart being to pound - but not from fear. No, not fear. Never fear.

_Excitement_.

She sucked in a heavy breath as she heard the familiar footsteps cross through the hall and then he appeared in the living room, large and intimidating in the way he filled the doorframe. 

Felicity sighed in contentment. “You’re here.”

A low chuckle reached her ears. “Where else would I be?”

Without giving her time to react, he crossed the room in a few large strides and immediately wound his arms around her waist, squeezing, and attacked her neck with wet, stubbly kisses, sucking on the skin like a man dying with thirst might gulp at a glass of water. Felicity moaned, arching her neck for him, holding her hair out of the way so he could lick and kiss at the front of her throat, just above the silvery chain of her necklace. 

His hands found her sweater, pulling it up, his skin hot and hands frantic over the bare skin of her stomach and waist, and Felicity rose up onto her toes at the sensation, goosebumps erupting over her body even though it was unseasonably warm. 

When she rocked back, she felt the beginnings of his hardness against her buttocks, the shape and feel unmissable after so many years in this line of work. But she wasn’t Felicity Smoak, Vegas callgirl today. 

She was Felicity, a woman who, for the last week, had been visited by a stranger who had given her the best sex of her life.

“ _Oooh_ ,” she let out a moan, stretching, lifting her arms and locking them loosely around the back of his neck. He’d be able to smell her perfume on her wrists, and the remnants of last night’s client’s cologne in her hair. 

Lips still at her neck, he steered her confidently towards the couch, then pulled away to coax her into a kneeling position on the cushions. She gripped the soft back of the couch with both hands and should have been mortified when she wiggled her hips and ass to entice him back, but she wasn’t. 

She wanted him.

Her jeans were off and halfway down her legs in what felt like seconds, the cool air of the room making her skin erupt into goosepimples. She suddenly remembered that she hadn’t had a full bikini wax in a while, and had some stray dark hairs around her underwear line; she blushed deeply, embarrassed at her lack of grooming, but of course he couldn’t see her. 

Instead, he ran his fingers along the rough parts of her skin where she had shaved, feeling the difference between the smooth expanse of her thighs and the more uneven skin closer to where she was warm and becoming wetter by the second, her body hot and throbbing. 

Felicity let out a moan, reaching out involuntarily to palm at one of her breasts, feeling the nipple stiffen through her bra. She heard the sound of a zipper and the _pop_  of a button, and then strong, muscular thighs wrapped around her hips and he was _right there_ , hard cock pressing between her ass cheeks, sending a zap of pleasure right through to her clit. She gripped the back of the couch harder, digging her nails into the fabric, panting hard. 

His lips found her neck, scruff scratching along the nape of her neck in a delicious prickly pain that had her squirming, pushing back against him to force their bodies closer together. His hot tongue came out to lave at her skin and she hummed, her blood singing with pleasure, arching her back to have more, to feel more.

Unexpectedly, she felt his hand roughly pull down her panties, a rush of cold air between her thighs that made her gasp. The combination of his cool fingers on her hot skin was almost too much, and she rocked in his embrace, her knees wobbling on the sofa cushion. Then he reached for her bra, unhooking it and discarding it on the floor in a simple swift movement. Her sweater was rucked up under her armpits and she was almost completely naked, kneeling on her couch in broad daylight, and she knew what was coming next. 

He pressed his cheek into the crook of her shoulder as he curled around her and gently, ever-so-gently, eased himself inside her, filling her until he could go no deeper and she felt his heavy balls pressing against the underside of her ass. At some point he must have put on a condom, but she never noticed. Without warning, one hand on her bare stomach and the other gripping the couch alongside hers, he began to thrust, slow and deep, each movement completely shifting their bodies forward, making the sofa cushions squeak beneath them. Felicity moaned, getting what she wanted so desperately at least, her lips a permanent _O_  as he moved them both, his cock pressing at every inch of her and creating a friction that sent shockwaves through her body.

She could feel his heavy grunts against the back of her neck, the strain of his muscles against her back, his abs pulled taught and his arms bulging under the short sleeves of his shirt. She was almost nude and he fully clothed, and that made everything even hotter, even more exciting. He thrust harder, pushing her forward, making her thighs burn from the weight of holding herself up, sweat already trickling down her hairline. The angle of their bodies was perfect for this, so perfect, him warm and solid against her back, her body pliant in between his. 

The pleasure was building fast, her clit burning hot and soaking wet, so close to that pressure point they both loved. He kissed wet, frantic kisses across the back of her neck, her ears, the side of her throat, her loose sweaty hair. The pendant of her necklace jumped and bobbed against her throat, the cool silver providing a relief from the heat. She spread her legs to take him in deeper, to force him to bury himself right up to her sweet spot, his cock filling her with a kind of intense euphoria she only ever rarely felt. 

Thrusting hard, he groaned against the exposed skin of her back and chased his own pleasure as she voiced hers. She could feel the twitch and jerk of his hips, ever-so-slightly out of time with his thrusts, each one brushing the head of his cock against her G-spot, sending warm sparks of pleasure running through her body. She could feel her wetness seeping down her thighs, onto the couch cushions, and slicking up his cock when he pulled out to push back in. 

They were both getting close, and the slick of sweat and harsh panting filled her ears as she let herself go, feeling everything, from the prickle of his scruff at her throat to the heat of his thick cock, the material of his shirt against her back, the edge of the couch she gripped tight in both hands. She moaned wantonly, bucking her hips, a loud  _“Oh!”_  falling from her lips as his thrusts became even faster and harder, erratic bursts that made her see stars behind her closed eyes. She threw her head back, feeling her clit pulse and zing with the desperate need of her body to come, and she knew he felt that desperation too.

At last - at long last - that moment arrived, him arching over her back with a low groan as he came, filling the condom and twitching against her, and one final brush of the head of his cock against her sweet spot made her yell out in delight as she reached her climax too, head falling forward and breath coming hard and fast, legs shaking, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

They stayed like that for a minute or two, getting their breath back, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin. Eventually, though, he flipped her around and eased out of her, tying off the condom and putting it....well, she didn’t really know, and at that point, she didn’t really care. Laying her back against the couch cushions, he tucked himself back into his pants and helped her zip up hers.

“Wow,” Felicity breathed, stretching out her aching, satisfied body the way a cat stretches in a patch of warm sun. “That was...pretty amazing.”

Above her, Oliver Queen grinned, much like the cat who got the cream, but sexier. 

So much sexier.

He bent down to press a soft, slow kiss to the side of her throat, where she was flushed and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. “I’ll remember that next time. You like sleeping with total strangers.”

“I like _pretending_  I’m sleeping with total strangers,” she clarified. “I know that I do anyway, but this way is...better.”

Oliver’s only response was to laugh, low and genuine, against her skin. He was so warm, and the material of his shirt was doing wonderful things for her sensitive, bare nipples. 

“Your pay is under the doormat,” Felicity murmured, feeling sleepy and sated from all the sex. “There’s no need to count it after you leave.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he protested, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as the post-coitus drowsiness took over him, too. 


	6. One, Two, Three (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest...or at least, it shouldn’t. Prostitute/gigolo AU.

Felicity had had an unusual request, which was saying a lot in her line of work. 

Someone wanted a threesome. With her. And other man of her choosing. 

It wasn’t the norm for a client to ask  _her_  for a second partner; usually they were requests from couples, or, more often than not, a pair of best friends about college-age who wanted to experience a three-way with a hot prostitute and really, as annoying as some college frat boys could be, she wasn’t about to turn down eager teenage boys who wanted to be fucked by a real woman. 

She’d show them a good time - and teach them a thing or two about sex in the process. 

So, this was unusual. Not bad, just...not her usual practice. 

The man, Cole, was young-ish; thirty-three and a businessman, with a sharp jawline and shining silver cufflinks. Not much older than her. His smile was all teeth and he smelled like rich cologne...or cologne that  _appeared_  rich, but probably wasn’t.

She knew plenty of men who would be willing to join her, and she had rifled through their business cards over and over, pausing over  _Nate Staton_  and  _Saul Wilkinson_ , but none of them felt right. 

_You know who you_ could _call,_ a voice inside her head told her.  _It’s you. He’s not going to say no._

Oliver had been busy, fully booked for the last week and a half, and so she hadn’t heard from him beyond the few glimpses she had had of him with various women on his arm. A couple of times there had been men in pressed suits, their hands on the small of his back, but Felicity had pushed that out of her mind because... _no._  Oliver would have told her. 

He would have said so if he didn’t just take female clientele. Wouldn’t he? For safety, above all, if not anything personal. 

So she was sitting on her couch, her finger paused over the  _Call_  button on the phone she reserved only for work, Oliver’s business card in her hand, her eyes reading the neat green lettering over and over again. 

The black silk dress with green ribbons fell over her slim body like a waterfall, clinging like a second skin to every inch of her chest, waist, her stomach. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples poked through the fabric. Her underwear was pretty much nonexistent; a tiny thong that could just about be seen through the back of the dress. Bare legs ended in bare feet. Her toenails had been freshly painted a sparkling emerald to match the ribbons. 

She almost couldn’t believe that Oliver had agreed to it. To...this. It didn’t seem his style, and yet...

Felicity knew what made him shudder in pleasure, gasp in exhilaration, and cry out in ecstasy, but she didn’t know much about  _him_.

She knew he had a younger sister. That he’d had a girlfriend, before, a pretty lawyer who had ended the relationship because she’d fallen in love with his best friend. That his parents were incredibly,  _incredibly_  rich. 

That he hadn’t dated anyone since becoming a prostitute. 

_Not_  that that was important.

Assessing herself in the mirror, she scrunched up her hair with her hands to give it more lift and rubbed her lips together to make sure her lipstick colour was even. A dab of perfume on her neck and wrists, and she was all ready for the night ahead.

 

Oliver arrived ten minutes later.

Wearing a sharply-pressed dove gray suit with shining silver cuff-links in the shape of arrowheads ( _Huh?_  Felicity thought, wondering if there was any meaning behind that), she could smell on him that he was freshly showered. Sharp and slightly salty, with a citrus tang that filled her nostrils as he bent down to kiss her cheek with a low, mellow “ _Hello.”_  

She smiled against his skin, letting her hands wander over the expensive fabric of his suit, pushing her hands under the lapels of the jacket to feel hard muscle under the starched white shirt. 

Felicity pulled away from him, and in the moment that he moved to look at her with a quizzical expression at her action, she captured his lips in a deep, moist kiss, sucking on his bottom lip and tasting the lemony hints of his aftershave. Oliver returned the kiss just as eagerly, hands gripping her bare waist inches above the ribbons on her thong.His fingertips teased down to the roundness of her ass, digging in just slightly as his tongue slipped into her mouth, teasing the tip of her own tongue and tracing the shape of her lips with gentle strokes that had Felicity’s cheeks and neck heating already. 

She raised herself onto her tiptoes, deepening the kiss, grasping the lapels of his jacket in both hands to raise her to his own height. She released his lips to nip at his chin and jaw, feeling the scruff under her mouth from where he’d stopped short of shaving completely clean. He groaned low in his chest, and she felt his ab muscles flex and twitch involuntarily at his growing arousal, which made her smile against his chin.

Licking her lips, Felicity said, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Ready to take this to the bedroom?”

“God, yes,” Oliver practically growled in response, and grasped her by the waist to lift her up into his arms; if she hadn’t thrown her legs around his waist at the last minute, she would definitely have fallen, and she gave a shriek and a cry of laughter as she threw her head back, allowing Oliver to press kisses to her exposed throat as he steered her towards the master bedroom.

Felicity kept her mouth attached to his as he walked them backwards, smearing her lipstick all over his chin, cheeks, and nose; he licked her lips and tongue and darted down every now and then to bite at the skin of her throat, more of a peck than anything, a barely-there scrape of his teeth that was enough to make her skin heat and a rush of warmth reach between her legs. 

Too soon, he dropped her onto the edge of the bed, before pushing her back by her shoulders and holding them there as he climbed over her much smaller form and pressed his evident erection against her panties, covering her throat in kisses and little licks once more. Felicity arched up, digging her fingers into his biceps, and pushed his jacket from his shoulders, throwing it into a corner of the room haphazardly. He’d give her a lecture later about being so careless with expensive material, probably in between eating her out on the sofa while she drank coffee out of a mug with a cartoon dog on it, but for now, she didn’t care. She wanted to feel the skin and muscle beneath his clothes, the strong and fit body that only his clients ever got the privilege of seeing.

_Lucky them_.

Throwing her legs up and around his waist, she invited him closer, grinding her hips a little so he’d get the hint. Slowly, she began unbuttoning his shirt, relishing in each piece of skin that was revealed, biting her lip to keep from screaming aloud what exactly she wanted from him. 

Because this was a business call, and she was a professional.

Oliver was extremely patient while she removed his shirt, little by little, the only evidence that he was getting antsy being the occasional twitch and flex of his abs, and the growing shape of his cock underneath his suit pants, which she was deliberately ignoring for more payoff later. 

She removed enough of his shirt to get a good look at his defined pectorals, and wasted no time in sticking out her tongue and licking over first one nipple and then the other. Oliver hissed in a breath as she laved the sensitive buds with her warm, wet tongue. She continued to play with his nipples as she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pushed the flaps of the material from his body, letting it fall to the floor with a soft  _whump_. She could feel her own nipples tightening under her dress, her skin tingling and hot. 

“Felicity,” Oliver groaned, rocking just above her with the kind of impatience she had learned he was partial to succumb to if she played him right. Felicity smirked, running her fingers over the taught muscles of his stomach. Next to him, her skin was pale as clouds, her arms white and his own skin an even, gold-toned brown. She remembered once that he’d said he liked to run outdoors. She wondered if he’d ever done it shirtless.

Wasting no time, Felicity paused in her undressing of Oliver to pull down the straps of her dress, letting her breasts fall forward as the garment loosened and went slack around her chest. Then she reached for Oliver’s belt, swiftly unbuckling it and pulling down the flaps of his pants till his boxers were exposed, a deep blue that complemented his skin tone. She longed to get his cock in her hands, to feel it and tease it, and tease  _him_. 

Then the doorbell rang. 

_Crap_. She’d gotten so caught up in what they were doing that she’d completely forgot about the third party joining them that night.

Oliver dutifully climbed off of her so that she could get the door, holding her chest to her chest as she did so. She padded barefoot and opened it with a shy smile, taking in the man standing in front of her.

Well, he was  _rather_...dashing. 

Felicity was momentarily taken aback as she took in the tall, elegantly-dressed man before her. Like Oliver, he wore a suit, though his was a royal blue with a neat grey tie and shining cufflinks. He licked his lips as he took in her almost-naked body, the stiff peaks of her nipples and the way she hugged her thighs together, betraying her growing wetness.

“Good evening,” Felicity breathed. “I see you like being punctual.”

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint the best prostitute in Starling City, would I?” Cole replied, flashing a smile that momentarily made Felicity go weak. Oh, this guy was very, very nice. Her first impression of him had been, admittedly, somewhat incorrect.

Behind her, she heard Oliver make a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a cough. She frowned, her brow crinkling, before turning back to her guest.

“Shall we go through to the bedroom?” 

Cole followed Felicity through to the master bedroom, where Oliver was perched on the edge of the bed, pants pulled down to his knees and erection obvious. Felicity waved a hand in his direction.

“Cole, this is Oliver. Oliver, this is our third party for tonight.”

Her tone was friendly and inviting, but there was something that seemed off about Oliver. His smile seemed too wide, his posture too relaxed, as if he was trying to hide something. Was he having second thoughts? Did he not want to go through with the evening’s plans?

“I hope you can keep up,” Oliver said. “Felicity and I are rather used to each other. If we go too fast, just say the word.” He gave her a sly wink. 

“Come here, then,” Felicity said wrapping the tie of his suit around her hand. She pulled herself up onto the tips of her toes, straining to her full height so that her mouth was inches from his. She barely brushed his lips with her own as she whispered, as seductively as she had come to do so as to make her clients bend to her will,

“ _Let’s get started.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes - this does mean there's going to be a Part 2.
> 
> To be continued...


	7. One, Two, Three (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starling City’s most in-demand gigolo and a Vegas-born call girl. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest…or at least, it shouldn’t. Prostitute/gigolo AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for how late this chapter is. 
> 
> I am also so so so sorry for how it ends.

Felicity crossed the room in three large strides, barely making a sound, before latching herself onto Oliver’s lips and kissing him deeply, her right hand coming up to cup his cheek. Her tongue pushed in between the seam of his mouth and he accepted her enthusiastically, sucking on her hot tongue and nibbling her lower lip. Oliver leaned backwards, taking her with him, and Felicity had to grab onto his bare shoulders to keep her balance.

She heard the rustle of fabric and the  _ziiiiip_  of pants being opened behind her, and she didn’t have to look back to see that Cole had pushed his suit trousers around his hips and was stroking himself, watching the two of them together. 

Felicity grinned into the kiss, reaching down to take one of Oliver’s hands and plant it firmly on her ass. To keep himself steady, he had to hook one of his legs around her own, pulling her forward and bracing her with his other hand on her lower back, massaging the sensitive skin there with his fingertips. The heat was already rising between them, their stomachs heaving with their breaths as they continued to kiss, exploring each other’s mouths as if they hadn’t already done it a dozen times already. 

Every time, it felt new.

Oliver suddenly grabbed the front of Felicity’s dress and pulled, freeing her breasts completely and letting out a low groan as they came into his view. Still kissing her, he cupped them both in his large hands, feeling the nipples pebble under his touch and how soft, how supple the skin there was. Every part of Felicity was amazing, and having her like this was one of his favourite things in the world.

His cock twitched, and Felicity was much, much too far away from where he needed her most. 

“I feel like we’re ignoring our guest,” Felicity whispered against his mouth, her smile devilish. 

 _Do we have to include him?_  was the question on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained from saying what was really on his mind as he gave her ass a squeeze and replied, “Yes, we are.”

Felicity waved a hand in Cole’s direction. “Come here,” she said, grasping his fingers in hers. 

instead of having to watch as she pulled him over to join their little party, he returned his attention to her breasts, this time laving them with his tongue, tasting the saltiness of sweat and the faint hint of lavender and honey soap. He bit at each nipple lightly, making Felicity gasp, and he quickly glanced over and above her shoulder to see her loosely fisting the other man’s cock, her emerald green nails too bright against his skin.

Something hurt like a shard of glass was lodged in his side, and for a moment he forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

Spontaneously, he grabbed Felicity’s ass in both hands, squeezing and kneading the flesh hard enough to bruise, and she gave a squeak of surprise that sent her shooting forward, pressing the length of her barely-dressed body along his. 

“Oh God,” she moaned, not being able to fight the sensation it suddenly brought, the pain and the pleasure mixing together. 

“Did that feel good?” Oliver murmured, still squeezing the cheeks of her ass in random rhythm, massaging the area where his fingers had dug in. “Do you want me - us - to do that again?”

“Yes,” Felicity gasped, “yes,  _please_.”

Oliver caught Cole’s eye, and strangely, some of the earlier painful anger he’d felt seemed to fade. In this, at least - Felicity’s pleasure - they could be in agreement. 

Moving his hands down to the backs of Felicity’s thighs, just under her ass, he repeated his ministrations, squeezing hard and massaging the toned muscle alternately. Felicity’s breath was hot on his face where she panted above him, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as she fought to keep her pleasure under control. 

Cole spanked her.

Oliver felt it when she jerked forward, moaning into his mouth - or so it seemed, she was so damn close - and brushing the soft skin of her stomach against his swollen cock. 

“Again,” she breathed. “ _Again_.”

 _One._ Another moan, longer this time; she pressed forward and the heat from her body, the solidness of it against his own, was enough this time to draw a drop of precum from the tip of his cock. It stuck to her and left a trail, the sight of it making Oliver lick his lips hungrily, wishing he could wipe her clean himself with his tongue. 

But not now. Later.

 _Two_. 

They were so close to each other, he could see the sweat beading along her hairline, wisps of blonde sticking to her forehead and temple. His own clothes were stuck to his back and shoulders with sweat and he longed to throw them off, to pick her up and plant her down on her mattress, to ravish her like he desperately wanted to, without  _him_  there. 

 _Three_. 

“Oh my God - I never thought spanking was my thing until just now,” Felicity panted, biting her lips, smearing the lipstick carefully painted on there. “It just feels  _so good_.” 

Oliver, being unable to help himself, let out a huff of laughter.  _Of course_. This was the Felicity few people got to see, except for him. 

It was exhilarating every time. 

 _Four_. Felicity moaned louder, and if the ceilings in the apartment weren’t so high, he was sure the sound would have echoed off the walls.

Reaching up onto his forearms, he pulled back a sweaty strand of her hair and whispered conspiratorially into her ear.” _Do you want to come?”_

Felicity nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, her whole body heaving above him. 

“Yes, God, yes,” she replied. “ _Please_ , Oliver.”

_Five!_

Felicity screamed her pleasure as she shoved herself onto his body, pressing her clit firmly against his aching cock - and that was it, she was coming, her thighs shaking and trembling around his waist as she screwed her eyes shut, biting her lips hard.

She slumped forward,  her sweaty forehead resting on his chest, and her wetness making everything damp and sticky, a flood of warmth between his own legs that made it painfully obvious to him that he was so damn hard he almost couldn’t see. 

Instinctively, without thinking about it, his hand came to rest on the middle of her back as she lay across him, catching her breath, still whimpering slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. Oliver had the sudden urge to card his fingers through her hair, to stroke it away from her forehead, and his fingers twitched towards the soft blonde tresses before he remembered Cole.

 _Righ_ t. Fucking  _Cole._

...who wasn’t there anymore. 

_What?_

Oliver peered over the top of Felicity’s head, but the space in front of them that the other man had occupied minutes earlier was empty. His suit jacket was gone and so was he. Neither of them had heard the door snap shut, but it must have, because now they were alone. 

Tension coiled in his stomach uncomfortably. 

Felicity, now coming round from her orgasm, was nosing at the skin of his chest, mouthing her way to his pecs, and had just flicked out her tongue to lick at a nipple when he stopped her.

“He left.”

She looked up, stared. A crinkle appeared between her brows. 

“Who did?” she asked.

“The other guy.” Oliver said. For some reason, his name wouldn’t come to his lips. 

Felicity frowned more deeply now, climbing up off of Oliver, tucking her hair away behind her ears. “Are you sure?”

“He’s not here, Felicity. He  _left_ ,” Oliver repeated. “Maybe he got cold feet and didn’t want to be embarrassed.” It did happen sometimes, with threesomes. 

But Felicity wasn’t acting like herself. She was fussing with her clothes, pulling the straps of the bra back up, adjusting her breasts inside the cups. She pulled a face when she felt her own arousal against her thighs, and she threw Oliver his own suit jacket without even looking at him.

“Or maybe,” she said quietly, though it sounded loud in the sudden silence of the room, “maybe we got in too deep and he knew, or thought he knew, that there was some kind of...of  _something_  between us and...and...”

“Felicity,” he said, re-buttoning his shirt and pulling up his pants; the tension in the room had caused his cock to deflate somewhat, and he tucked himself back into his underwear with minimal discomfort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do!” she burst out, her hands clenching and un-clenching at her sides. “You  _do_ , Oliver, you’ve known for months and neither of us said anything because we’ve been trying to deny it!”

 He couldn’t help it; he shouted back, “Deny  _what_?”

“That we’re  _falling_  for each other!” 

Felicity’s chest heaved as he breathed harshly, her eyes like flints of deep blue, her jaw set. He swore he could see the sparkle of emergent tears in her eyes as his mind reeled from her words, the blood in his hands and feet rushing to the ends of the digits, causing a painful prickling, numbing feeling to spread

Oliver shook his head, confused and bewildered, like a dog shaking water from its ears. “I-I don’t-”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “It’s obvious to me now that I - I got myself involved in something I shouldn’t have. Please get out.”

Oliver took a step forward. “Felicity-”

 

“ _Get out!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you.


End file.
